


The Worst of Them All

by Smallerthanlife



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Degradation, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Hate Sex, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 13:24:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12631941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smallerthanlife/pseuds/Smallerthanlife
Summary: At the crossroads, Solas puts Lavellan in her place.Edit: Apprently tagging wasn't enough. In case anyone was unclear, THIS IS A NOT-NICE RAPE FIC. Proceed with caution.





	The Worst of Them All

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dragon Age Kink Meme.

Ellana stumbled through the last Eluvian, slick with both blood and sweat. As the strange world materialized again around her, she couldn’t help but take a moment to stare, despite the pain. The leaves fell, spinning down on wind that brought the deep scent of autumn, as real as she had ever experienced in the woods around Wycome. The way the crunched under her weight as she stepped forward past the Quanari, frozen in stone, was unmistakably real as well. Beyond them, the walls and towers had fallen, just like the leaves. The decay of the crumbling buildings tore at something deep in her blood. As a child, she remembered dreaming of coming of age in the golden age of the elves. Seeing this courtyard was a twisted perversion of that. Of what should have been. And it was wrong. All wrong.

Then, she was on her knees, gasping for breath to scream. Her cries echoed through the ruined courtyard. Flaying her skin from her muscle would hurt less, she imagined. Like the Viddasala mentioned, she was dying. She could feel it, with every throb of her magic-poisoned blood. Still trembling, and fighting the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, she forced herself to her feet.  
When she reached Solas and he’d explained everything they both stood in silence, looking into the distance as the wind whipped around them. 

“Are we not even people to you?” she asked, the wind carrying her voice throughout the entire space. She had intended to sound angry. Not entirely broken. Another wave of pain tore through her, and she clapped her right hand over her own mouth to try and muffle her screams. As he stepped near, and reached for her marked hand, she searched for empathy in his eyes, and found only disgust. With her hand caught in his, palm facing upward, and kneeling at his feet, she felt indeed like she was supplicating a god. And she knew already that the supplication would be in vain.

His eyes glowed, and the pain faded away, as if relief had poured into her from his fingertips. Startled, yet grateful, she broke away from his grip, trying to rub the memory of agony out of her arm. She struggled to her feet. In addition to the ravages of the worsening mark, she had a poorly bound wound on her arm that was slowly leaking blood. She was weak. When she met his eyes again, the disgust had softened to pity. He rested a hand on her shoulder to steady her. The gesture broke her composure. Tears flooded out of her, and she didn't try to straighten out her expression, didn't try to quiet her sobs.

"You created this, made us the way we are, and you are going to destroy us?" She asked, voice rising as she spoke.

"There is no other way. I would do anything for my own, as would you. Your people are nothing more that a twisted shadow of mine," he said, turning away from her to walk along the edge of the cliff overlooking the ruins of a massive castle. "As for you...you proudly wear the marks of a slave. You profess to every soul you meet about your love for your people. And yet you flout their traditions by giving your body to a human man."

"I... I love him," she said, looking at the ground. She did love him. Cullen was golden and lovely and so, so sweet and strong enough for the both of them when she was too tired to bear the weight of her mantle. Her love was confusing. Complicated. But she had decided to take it piece by piece. She did know that she loved him, and he loved her, and amidst all the chaos she had found a way to let that be enough for her. "As you said, wouldn't you do anything for your own?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "At least in my case no one will die because of it."

His eyes flared again, and before she could prepare herself, the pain returned. Her scream would have sent the birds scattering, if there had been anything alive in that place besides the two of them. When the pain subsided, at least a little, she found herself kneeling again, sitting on her heels. She gasped in huge gulps of air, clasping her arm to her side. 

"How many times did you let him inside of you?" He said, slow steps bringing him close to her. She shook her head, still fighting the pain, unsure of how to respond. 

"I... don't understand," she said between labored breaths, breaking herself out of her tortured reverie long enough to glance up at his face. 

"You will," he said, hands clasped behind his back as he stood over her. The pain peaked again and she fell onto her side, curling in on herself. There was nothing worse than that pain. There couldn't be. "Do you know what the Evanuris and their followers would do to those who were marked as theirs?" He asked. In her trace, she hadn't noticed when he knelt. He was working at the fastenings of her trousers, and soon deft fingers tugged them down, bringing her underclothes along with them. She didn't understand what he was doing, and didn't respond, but he continued. "They would do anything they wished, and more. The one you call Falon'Din was particularly fond of violating the slaves dedicated to him," he said, gesturing at her Vallaslin. 

Her body understood before she did. She was shaking, and she tried to sit up, to move away from him. As soon as she did, the pain returned, knocking her flat on her back. She had remembered how he had turned the Qunari to stone. Here, he had a power that was unfathomable to her. He was Fen’Harel after all. A sick certainty settled over her. As strong as she was, she would not be able to get away. Although she didn’t want to meet his eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to look away. He was working at unlacing the front of his trousers, and etched into his face and his posture was his characteristic self-assurance. Even now, he believed himself to be right. 

She lay still, exhausted from the pain, even as he positioned his body over hers. 

“When I first met you, I had hoped to one day call you friend,” he said. His sentence morphed into a low groan as he reached between their bodies, guiding his cock inside of her. Cullen had never hurt her, but this penetration felt like being flayed open. She clenched her eyes shut, and turned her head to the side, unable to bear looking at him any longer. He laughed, a sound thick with condescension.

“Ah yes. How expected. You would willingly shut your eyes and ignore what’s right in front of you,” he said, punctuating his words with slow movements of his hips. “Just as you would live and die in a hovel in the woods, wear the guise of a slave, and sing hymns and prayers to your slavers.” She wanted so badly to defend herself, to tell him of the joy of receiving her Vallasin, the comfort and strength of her community, and the peace in the simplicity of that life. But her throat was tight, and the only sound she could force from it was an amorphous moan. “If you love your people so dearly, have you told your parents about the man who’s taken you to his bed? Or your keeper?” he said, as his movements sped up. He didn’t wait for her to answer. Didn’t care to hear her answer. 

As he moved, his fingers grasped her waist, nails digging in as he pulled at her in time with his thrusts. She wanted to be somewhere else far, far away. Like the shores of Sheron, the bustling cities of Teveniter, or even the bottom of the Amaranthine. …or perhaps nowhere at all. Unmercifully, the pain in her arm and inside of her kept her grounded. She felt his sounds of pleasure all the way in her bones, and with her eyes closed, that sound was her entire world. When his labored breaths finally reached a peak, and he stilled on top of her, she wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or horrified. She opened her eyes, though she was careful to avoid meeting his. Slowly, he stood, and turned his back to her as he adjusted his clothes. 

Her heart was still pounding dully in her chest, and she felt nothing now. Her pants and shoes lay next to her, and the grass was cool against her bare legs as she sat up. As if underwater, she gathered up her clothes in turn. When she was dressed and glanced back at him from where she sat, she found him staring at her, studying her as if making a decision. After a moment, he reached down and took her hand in his. With a surge of magic that she felt resonate through her entire being, the lingering, burning pain in her arm was gone. Replacing it, was a smooth, eerie nothingness. She fought the urge to vomit. Still bent over her, he brushed a strand of sweat-dampened hair from her face, and his touch lingered.

“I once had thought that I may have misjudged the Dalish, if they had produced a spirit such as yours,” he said. The pity and disgust melted out from his eyes. Something warm glinted there, for just a moment, and then it was gone. As if startled, he snatched his hand back from her face and stood upright while straightening his clothes. “I have since learned that I was wrong. You are the worst of them all.” Then he turned away and left her where she sat, trembling on the ground.


End file.
